House Calls
by Neuropsych
Summary: (COMPLETE) Cassie's gone. Sam's gone. Jack's hurt. Janet's bored. (Rated for possible language, but nothing else)
1. 01

Disclaimer: None of the characters are mine... (sigh) This one is just a little bit of nonsense – since I enjoy the interplay between Janet and Jack, and I never get enough of them  
  
.......................  
  
"I'm fine, Doc."  
  
"Oh?"  
  
"Yup."  
  
"Lift your hands above your head, then, Colonel."  
  
He grimaced. He sweated. He gasped in pain. But he was stubborn, and he got them both up. And promptly began bleeding through the bandage that covered his shoulder when he ripped the carefully placed stitches she'd just put in his torn shoulder.  
  
Fraiser sighed, and pulled the bloody bandages off, and started yanking out the ripped stitches so she could clean the wound again, and re-stitch it.  
  
"I told you that you weren't fine."  
  
"I got them up."  
  
"Colonel."  
  
"Doc."  
  
They were even grumpier than usual. Both of them. The infirmary staff knew Fraiser was grumpy because Cassandra was away from home for the first time in her life, and Janet missed her. And was lonely and bored. They had to assume Jack was grumpy because he was Jack. Nuff said, there. Fraiser had her own ideas about O'Neill's temper.  
  
She was a little less gentle this time as she cleaned the wound in his shoulder and began stitching it once more.  
  
"How much longer is Sam going to be in California?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
He knew. Of course he knew. Probably right down to the very minute. She knew he knew. But she didn't say anything.  
  
"Hold still." He was always fidgeting.  
  
"Sorry."  
  
No he wasn't.  
  
She finished with the neat row of stitches – a couple more than the last time, since he'd ripped good skin along with injured skin – and then she re- bandaged him.  
  
"Now, put on the sling."  
  
"I don't want to wear-"  
  
"So you've said." She handed it to him, and he scowled.  
  
"I'm not-"  
  
"Do it, Colonel."  
  
"I can't do anything with my arm in a sling." He complained. "I'm going to starve tonight."  
  
"You can pick up a phone and order a pizza one-handed."  
  
"I can't do the dishes."  
  
"If you order a pizza you won't need to do the dishes."  
  
"I can't make my bed."  
  
"It should have been made this morning, when you got out of it."  
  
"It wasn't."  
  
"Then sleep on the couch."  
  
"I'll get a crick in my neck."  
  
"Just do what I tell you, Colonel."  
  
"Doc."  
  
"Colonel."  
  
He grumbled, and put the sling on, and she helped him put a shirt on over it – although it didn't close very well and one arm flopped. She tucked that arm in, and examined him critically. Despite his grumpiness, she could tell he was in a lot of pain from the shoulder. Part of that was her fault, she knew. She shouldn't have let him challenge her into making him lift his arm and ripping the stitches. That had been unprofessional. And, yeah, she could have been a little gentler when she was cleaning the wound out and re- stitching it.  
  
"Does it hurt?"  
  
"No."  
  
"I'm going to give you a couple painkillers. One for right now. One to help you sleep tonight."  
  
"I don't need-"  
  
"Do what I tell you or I'll keep you here."  
  
"You wouldn't."  
  
"I would, and you know it."  
  
Oh, he knew it. Of course he did.  
  
"I can't drive home if I'm doped up."  
  
Ha.  
  
She sighed.  
  
"I'll take you home, myself. AND I'll make sure your bed is made, AND I'll order you a pizza so you don't starve."  
  
"What?"  
  
Damn.  
  
"It's simple, Colonel. Sam's not here to make sure you do what I tell you to do, and I'm not going to let you burn your house down trying to cook dinner one-handed. And God forbid you end up with a crick in your neck because you had to sleep on the couch. So I'll take you home, make sure you eat, make sure you take your painkiller, then I don't have to listen to you complain tomorrow morning when you come in bitching because it still hurts AND you're tired because you didn't do anything I told you to do."  
  
Jack looked at her, a little surprised by her vehemence.  
  
"I wouldn't have said 'bitching'." He said. "I don't bitch. I... um... complain."  
  
She smiled for the first time since he'd entered her infirmary, and Jack did, too.  
  
"You complain better than anyone I've ever met, Sir." She handed him a cup of water and a pill. "Take this, and I won't keep you here overnight."  
  
"Are you really driving me home?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"No way I can just take a cab?"  
  
"I don't have anything else to do tonight. Cassie's still away with her friends."  
  
"That must be lonely." He swallowed the pill and washed it down with the water.  
  
"It's not really. I'm just not used to it." She took the glass back. "Ready?"  
  
He nodded, and hopped off the table.  
  
..........................  
  
"You don't really have to take me in. I can order a pizza just fine on my own."  
  
"What's the pizza number?" Janet asked.  
  
He shrugged, and grimaced when he pulled the skin around his stitches.  
  
"Don't do that, Colonel." She got out of her car and came around and opened his door for him and helped him get unbuckled. The medication she gave him hadn't really kicked in yet, but when it did, it would do so with a bang, and she figured it wouldn't be a bad idea if she were there to keep him out of trouble.  
  
"It's on the fridge." He complained. "You don't need to-"  
  
"Just humor me, Colonel."  
  
They walked up to the door, and Jack fumbled for the keys in his pocket. Yeah, maybe the pills were kicking in, Janet decided while she watched him lose his motor skills. She took his keys and opened the door for him, then gestured for him to go in first and shut the door behind them.  
  
"Are you hungry, Sir?"  
  
"I'd like a beer."  
  
He headed for the fridge.  
  
"No beer. Not with your medication."  
  
"Ah, come on Doc. Just one?"  
  
"Water." She told him firmly. "Or juice. Or milk."  
  
"But-"  
  
"Colonel." She gave him her best 'I'm not going to argue with you about this' tone, and he grumbled and went into the living room and sat down on the couch.  
  
"So."  
  
He turned and looked at her, and she saw his eyes were just a little unfocused. Yup, the painkillers were kicking in.  
  
"So?"  
  
"You're really sticking around?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then you can drink my beer for me. And I can watch and drool."  
  
"Oh, I think not, Sir."  
  
"Come on..." He wheedled.  
  
She'd never heard him wheedle before. He did it rather well.  
  
"I'll order your pizza for you. What kind do you want?" She picked up the phone and looked on the fridge. Sure enough, there was the number.  
  
"You going to help me eat it?"  
  
"I'll have a piece."  
  
"Whatever kind you want."  
  
What a gentleman.  
  
She ordered pepperoni. It was simple, and she was sure he had to like that. Everyone liked pepperoni, right?  
  
He watched her as she set the phone down.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Are you going to drink my beer?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then I am."  
  
"No, you're not."  
  
He stood up, a determined look on his face, and she sighed.  
  
"Fine. Sit back down. I'll drink your beer for you, and you can have milk."  
  
He sat down, triumphantly. And she poured him a glass of juice – the milk smelled as though it'd been in there far longer than it should have been – and pulled a beer out of the six pack he had in his fridge, and she went into the living room and handed him the glass.  
  
"I thought I was having milk."  
  
"Yeah. Trust me on this one." She said, smiling. "Drink your juice."  
  
"Thanks, Janet." 


	2. 02

"So where did Cassie go?" Jack asked as he took a drink of his juice, and grimaced.  
  
"A friend of hers invited her on a fishing trip with some members of her church."  
  
"Fishing?"  
  
"Yup."  
  
"Male friends?" Jack asked, instantly alert. He'd have to beat some kid up if-  
  
"No, just girls."  
  
"Ah."  
  
"Don't worry, Colonel. It's well supervised. I made sure before I allowed her to-"  
  
"I'm sure you did."  
  
She took a drink of her beer.  
  
"How come you didn't clear that with me?"  
  
"Clear what? Cassie going fishing?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Why would I?"  
  
"Because..." He trailed off, visibly trying to figure that out. Why would she clear that? Janet smiled and finished her beer, letting him stew on that, which was fun to watch in his current drugged condition.  
  
"She's fine, Colonel."  
  
He nodded, and leaned back on the couch, closing his eyes.  
  
"Are you getting tired?" The medication could make him drowsy, but it shouldn't have happened quite so quickly.  
  
"Nah. The room's spinning."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"You're dizzy?"  
  
"No. I'm fine. The room's a little messed up."  
  
She came over and sat next to him, running her hand along his forehead. No fever.  
  
"Follow my finger, Colonel."  
  
He looked at the finger she held up, and tried to focus on it as she moved it around. His head moved a lot more than her finger, and Janet frowned.  
  
"Concentrate."  
  
"I am."  
  
"Try harder, okay?"  
  
"Okay." He visibly tried to concentrate, and when she thought he was ready, she moved her finger again. This time he did a little better.  
  
"That's better. We'll feed you, then you should probably go to bed."  
  
"It's only..." He looked at the clock. "...Five thirty."  
  
"I know."  
  
She stood up and went to get herself another beer.  
  
"So I don't have to go to bed?"  
  
"No. You still should."  
  
"But-"  
  
She shook her head.  
  
"Just do what I tell you, Colonel."  
  
"I'm not tired. It's not my fault the room's spinning."  
  
"Colonel..."  
  
"Doc..."  
  
The possible argument was averted by the doorbell.  
  
"Dinner's here."  
  
"Joy."  
  
Janet smiled. Now he was surly. She, of course, wasn't concerned. Jack O'Neill had no attitude Janet Fraiser couldn't handle. She'd seen him at his worse, and he was far from it tonight. She opened the door, and was still smiling when she took the pizza from the delivery girl, and paid her, then carried the pizza to the coffee table so he didn't have to try getting up and coming to the table.  
  
"What kind did you get?"  
  
"Pepperoni."  
  
She brought plates, and paper towels, and he opened the box.  
  
"I can handle that."  
  
"Good."  
  
As it turned out, he couldn't. She hadn't ordered extra cheese, but whoever had made it, had loaded it up. The pizza also had a lot of sauce, and it was extremely messy and hard to eat neatly even for Janet. Jack was having a fiasco. The first bite he took brought all the cheese and sauce off his slice. Luckily it missed his chin, which would have hurt like hell.  
  
"Agh."  
  
"Colonel? Let me help you..." She reached over to take the slice from him, but he pulled it away.  
  
"I've got it."  
  
"No you don't."  
  
"Yes I do."  
  
All the toppings came off the slice again, and landed in his lap – which could have been disastrous if he'd been wearing less clothing, but was just messy as it was.  
  
"Shit."  
  
Janet laughed.  
  
Jack scowled.  
  
"Want a plate?"  
  
"No."  
  
He was being stubborn, and Janet shook her head, but left him alone. She did reach over and button his shirt, though, tucking the arm in the sling inside his shirt so he wouldn't do to his chest what he almost did to his lap. Jack let her, but he scowled the entire time, feeling she was maybe being just a little over-protective. Which was the way she always was with her patients, and he knew it.  
  
By the time he gave up on eating, Janet was close to tears from suppressed laughter. Jack was a mess. His pants were drenched with sauce and cheese and pepperoni, his shirt was covered with it, and his hand and face were smeared. His mood was foul – not at all helped by her grinning every time he tried to take a bite – and by the fact that he was hungry and she'd decided to pick the hardest thing in the world to eat. Why not give him rice and chopsticks next time?  
  
He dropped the soggy slice of pizza back in the box with a scowl, and watched as she finished the last beer of the six-pack.  
  
"I'm glad you're finding this so amusing."  
  
She snorted. She couldn't help herself.  
  
"I'm sorry, Jack."  
  
"No, you're not."  
  
"No, I'm not."  
  
"You're drunk."  
  
"No, I'm not."  
  
She wasn't, either. Sure, she'd finished the first beer, and had had another – you _had _to have a beer with pizza – unless you were on medication, of course – but that had only been two beers. Then she'd had the third, and by then she had decided that what the hell? It wasn't going to kill her to get pleasantly buzzed. She'd just call Sam and have her come take her home. By the time she'd finished the six-pack, she was more than pleasantly buzzed, but she wasn't exactly drunk, either. Well... maybe a little.  
  
"You're not driving tonight." He told her. He, of course, was stone-cold sober. Just doped up.  
  
"Sam can come get me."  
  
"Sam's in California."  
  
"She can get me when she comes home."  
  
"Uh huh."  
  
Jack nodded, trying to think about what was wrong with that statement, but for the life of him, he couldn't.  
  
"I wish she was here."  
  
"Anxious to get rid of me?" Fraiser asked him, smiling.  
  
"Nah."  
  
He changed the subject, and looked down at himself, and frowned. The chat had allowed him to forget how messy he was, but he couldn't stand to look like this for too long. Fraiser followed his gaze, and burst into giggles.  
  
Jack scowled.  
  
"You did this on purpose." He accused.  
  
"No, I didn't." She wiped tears from her cheeks, still laughing.  
  
"I'm going to go take a shower."  
  
"You can't."  
  
"Yes I can. It's my house."  
  
"You'll..." He'll what? She focused on that for a moment. Something about... his... arm... "You'll get wet."  
  
Jack shook his head.  
  
"That's the whole idea behind a shower, Janet," Jack told her, using his one free saucy hand to push himself to his feet. "I'll be back." He staggered uncertainly down the hall and into the bathroom. 


	3. 03

Jack was smart enough to know when he was wrong about something. He wasn't always smart enough to admit it – some people called that stubborn, he knew. But this time he was pretty certain that the shower had been a dumb idea. Even doped up like he was, he knew he'd made a mistake. The shower was killing him. Slowly and painfully.  
  
"Janet!"  
  
She thought he heard his voice calling him. Fraiser turned her head, and looked down the hall, expecting him to make an appearance. He didn't.  
  
"Janet!"  
  
She lurched to her feet, and went down the hall, trying to figure out why he'd be calling her name. She found him in the bathroom, standing under the spray of the shower. Fully clothed, still, with his injured shoulder turned from the stinging spray.  
  
"Jack? What are you doing?"  
  
"Showering. Turn it off, will you?"  
  
"I told you that you shouldn't shower."  
  
"I know."  
  
"I was right."  
  
"I know."  
  
She reached in and turned the shower off, and helped him get out. He was still wearing his shoes, too.  
  
"You're supposed to get undressed to shower."  
  
"I know."  
  
"Why didn't you?"  
  
"I thought I could wash my clothes at the same time."  
  
That actually made sense. Which told Janet Fraiser she was probably a little drunker than she'd first thought. She should have eaten more to soak up those beers. Or not drank them so fast.  
  
"You'd better get undressed."  
  
"I know."  
  
The two of them went into his bedroom, Fraiser holding him up. With her hand on the elbow of his injured arm. Jack wasn't feeling the pain from this, since the painkillers were working just fine, but the first time he slipped on the wet bathroom floor and almost went down, the now wet stitches in his shoulder were once more ripped open. Of course, neither of them noticed.  
  
"I don't need your help," Jack told her as she started unbuttoning his shirt.  
  
"Do it yourself."  
  
He tried to get the first button open one-handed and couldn't. Fraiser gave him a triumphant look, and he scowled.  
  
"Fine. I need help."  
  
"I know."  
  
She unbuttoned his shirt for him, and helped pull it off. It was so wet it was dripping water all over his bedroom floor, but neither of them noticed that, either. The bandage she'd wrapped around his shoulder so carefully was soaking wet, too, and stained crimson. Of course, his pants were just as wet, and his hair was drenched, and they both were more focused on that than they were on his bandages. Another sign that Janet was drunk.  
  
"Need help with your pants?" She wasn't drunk enough to go any lower than his shirt without an actual need to, and Jack wasn't so doped up that he was going to tell her yes.  
  
"Nah. I got them okay."  
  
He didn't though. He fumbled with the buttons and sighed. One-armed people should not have multiple buttons on their clothing. Of course, when he'd dressed himself that morning, he'd had full use of both hands.  
  
"Maybe a little help."  
  
She unbuttoned his pants for him.  
  
"Don't worry, Jack. I've seen you naked before."  
  
"Yeah, I know."  
  
It didn't seem fair, though. He'd never seen her naked. He clamped down on that particular thought before he could mull it over and maybe say something aloud that would be a huge mistake.  
  
He pulled his pants off, and sat down on the bed to kick off his shoes, and lay back, wearing nothing but soaked boxers, and a bandage.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
Something was telling her something was wrong, but she couldn't figure out what it was. Her mind wasn't focusing enough, although she looked down at him critically as she stood there, feeling just a bit unsteady herself.  
  
"I'm fine."  
  
Janet sat down beside him with a tired sigh.  
  
"You okay?" Jack asked.  
  
"Sleepy."  
  
"That's because you're drunk."  
  
"I'm not drunk."  
  
"I've never seen you drunk," he told her, sitting up and smiling. "It's cute."  
  
"I'm not drunk, Jack."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Don't patronize me."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Stop that." She snapped, slapping his shoulder in mock irritation. He felt that. Even through the painkiller, he felt that.  
  
He gasped, and she was instantly contrite.  
  
"I'm sorry."  
  
"Don't be." He told her through clenched teeth. "I deserved it."  
  
"I'd better look at that..."  
  
"It's okay."  
  
"You're probably bleeding."  
  
Bleeding was bad.  
  
"I'll stop."  
  
He stretched out again, not really wanting to stay upright any longer than necessary. The room was still spinning, just a little slower, now.  
  
"I should-"  
  
"Janet, it's fine. Relax."  
  
He reached out with the good arm and pulled her down beside him.  
  
"I'm the doctor, you know?"  
  
"So you keep telling me."  
  
"I should-"  
  
"You should relax. I'm not going to bleed to death."  
  
"You could..."  
  
"Nah."  
  
He closed his eyes to keep from watching the ceiling move.  
  
"I should leave you alone so you can sleep," she said softly, noticing his eyes closing. He was kind of cute lying there like that. Even with the bandages.  
  
"You can stay..."  
  
She giggled, and he opened one eye.  
  
"What?"  
  
"Was that an invitation?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
He closed the eye again, and fell asleep before she could decide what he'd meant by that. 


	4. 04

She woke up with a pounding headache, and a cotton sweater coating the entire inside of her mouth.  
  
"Oh, God..." She groaned, rolling slightly to get off the arm she'd been sleeping on. What the heck had she done to herself? She rolled into something solid and warm, and realized she had her other arm stretched out and draped over it. Him. HIM?  
  
Janet opened her eyes, and groaned again when she felt a wave of nausea course through her. What was she thinking? What had she been thinking? She sat up a little and looked at the man sleeping next to her, and realized that it was O'Neill. And she was in his bed. And he wasn't dressed. And his shoulder was covered with a bloody bandage.  
  
"Colonel?"  
  
She was trying to piece together what had happened the night before, but it was only coming in fragments. They'd been in the shower. They'd talked about seeing him naked. They'd... she shook her head, trying to clear it, and winced when she felt the pounding increase. Someone had crept into her head while she'd slept and was trying to get out with a pick and a hammer, and it was killing her. Janet closed her eyes with a groan, taking a moment to ascertain how badly she felt.  
  
Her head. Yeah, that hurt. Her stomach? Oh, she felt sick, but that wasn't life threatening. Lower? No, she didn't have that ache that would have given testimony to any kind of serious physical intimacy. Whatever else had happened – and she wasn't positive exactly what they'd done – they hadn't had sex. Probably. Thank God.  
  
"Colonel?"  
  
He didn't respond, and Janet tried to open her eyes again, closed them instantly with a wince, and ran her hand along his belly and chest to his neck where he could check his pulse. He wasn't dead. That was good.  
  
"Kill me... please..."  
  
The voice was agony, and Janet winced in shared misery. If she was hung over – and she was – she couldn't imagine how much worse he was feeling.  
  
"Colonel?"  
  
"Doc?"  
  
"How do you feel?"  
  
"I think I'm dead."  
  
"Do you hurt?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then you're not dead."  
  
"I wish I was."  
  
She could understand that. She wished she were, too, right then.  
  
"What time is it?" He asked.  
  
"It's the middle of the night... Do you remember what happened?"  
  
"No, what happened?" He opened his eyes, and looked down at himself, and then over at her. He wasn't dressed, but she was. Oh, God. What happened?  
  
"Please tell me we didn't do anything."  
  
"I don't think we did..." She said, opening her eyes again, and forcing herself into an upright position and looking over at him.  
  
"You don't think...?"  
  
"I'm not sure, Sir... I can't remember... much of anything."  
  
"Me either."  
  
"I need to check that wound. You've bled quite a bit, it looks like."  
  
"Yay."  
  
He closed his eyes and lay back down. He was too sore to care.  
  
She sighed, and leaned over him, planning on pulling the bandages aside so she could see how much damage he'd done to himself, but a wave of nausea struck her again, and she closed her eyes. She wasn't sure if the headache itself was making her sick, or if the hang over was. It'd been a long time since Janet was hung over. Now she remembered why.  
  
"Doc?"  
  
His eyes were opened again, feeling her hovering over him, but her own eyes were closed, and she looked like she was about ready to throw up all over him. Pale and green at the same time.  
  
She didn't answer.  
  
"Go back to sleep, Janet..." Jack said, fairly certain that she was just feeling the affects of a hangover. Something he could relate to, but not just then. She'd feel better if she got a little more sleep, he knew.  
  
"I need to check your shoulder."  
  
He pulled her down next to him, and she went without argument. If he was breathing and talking, then he wasn't dying, and it could wait. She was really just too miserable to care about anything more than a life or death situation, just then, and there wasn't one present.  
  
"Check it later... it doesn't hurt so much, now... it can wait..."  
  
She nodded, and completely without thinking about it, she cuddled up against him, resting her head lightly on his uninjured shoulder. His arm went around her, and held her close, probably without realizing it. Janet was asleep again in moments, more than willing to escape the misery for as long as she could.  
  
He held her while she slept, the aching in his shoulder keeping him from going back to sleep right away. He was miserable, and hurting, but she had looked so ill herself that Jack had downplayed his aches to make her go back to sleep. As she slept, he tried to go back over the night, and figure out what had happened. He remembered trying to eat pizza, and her laughing at him. And he remembered showering. With her? No. Yes? No. She was there, but not undressed, although he remembered thinking about her being naked. That wasn't the same thing, though. Jack suppressed a frustrated sigh. He didn't like it when he couldn't remember things, and he was going to make them stop giving him painkillers that did weird things to him.  
  
Eventually, he gave up. He didn't know what had happened, and until he was feeling a little better he wasn't going to be able to figure it out. He reached for a blanket with his injured arm – careful not to disturb her, and covered the two of them, then fell into a restless sleep. Morning was soon enough to figure it out. 


	5. 05

Author's note: I'd have Sam walk in on them if not for the fact that she's established as being out of town...yes, that would be too funny! : )  
  
.............  
  
The next time she woke up, she felt far more human. Her head was still pounding, but it was manageable now, and it didn't quite hurt so much when she opened her eyes. She was warm, and comfortable, and it'd been a very long time since Janet had woken up wrapped up in someone's arms. And that was what woke her up; since she knew immediately she wasn't where she belonged.  
  
She stretched, unable to wake up completely as lousy as she felt, and the arm around her moved slightly.  
  
"Colonel?"  
  
"Hmmm?"  
  
"Just making sure."  
  
"Who else would it have been?"  
  
"Well..."  
  
"Don't make a list."  
  
"It'd be a short one," She told him, slipping out of his arms with a groan as her head started pounding a little harder.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
"Yes. You?"  
  
"My arm's going to fall off, I think."  
  
"It's probably been bleeding off and on all night..."  
  
"Not that arm."  
  
It took her a minute to realize that he was teasing her. His other arm had been the arm that she'd ended up sleeping on as he'd wrapped it around her. She grinned, despite her headache.  
  
"That wasn't very nice."  
  
"What?"  
  
Oh, sure, he sounded innocent. She knew better. She could also hear the laughter in his tone, and she knew if his eyes were open they'd be gleaming with good humor. Which was a good sign, since she knew he had to be hurting. The pain pill she'd given him had most likely worn off hours before, and he was probably in a good deal of pain.  
  
"Seriously." She sat up and pulled the blanket that was covering him down to bare his chest. "How do you feel?"  
  
"I hurt." He told her, simply, opening his eyes and looking up at her.  
  
"I bet."  
  
She pulled the bandage aside – far more carefully than she'd put it on the evening before when she'd been grumpy – and grimaced.  
  
"That bad, huh?" He asked, noting the look.  
  
"You've managed to rip all the stitches again."  
  
"What's the record?"  
  
She ignored that.  
  
"I'll put them in when we get back to the infirmary. As long as you're careful, you should be okay until then. How much pain are you in, scale of one to ten – ten being agony?"  
  
He was quiet for a moment, calculating.  
  
"Six. Maybe a five."  
  
"Then you'll be okay."  
  
She needed to get home and get cleaned up – and change into some clean clothes.  
  
"I told you that yesterday."  
  
She ignored that, too.  
  
"I'm going to go home. Get ready, and I'll come back and get you, and take you to the base."  
  
"Kay..."  
  
He didn't move.  
  
"Colonel?"  
  
"Yes, get ready, you'll come back and get me. I got it."  
  
"Are you going to?"  
  
"Going to what?"  
  
"Get ready."  
  
"For what?"  
  
"For me to come get you."  
  
"Sure. When?"  
  
"Soon. An hour at the most. I don't want to leave that wound open any longer than necessary."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"You know... I'd feel a little more optimistic about you being ready to go if you'd at least open your eyes ad pretend you're following along with this conversation."  
  
He opened his eyes, obediently, and she smiled despite herself.  
  
"Do you have any aspirin here?"  
  
"In the medicine cabinet."  
  
She got off the bed and left the room. Finding a bottle of extra strength Tylenol in the medicine cabinet, she downed a couple – washing them down with a quick drink from the sink. Then she took a couple more, and a glass of water and went back into his room. He hadn't moved. And his eyes were closed again.  
  
"Colonel?"  
  
"Doc?"  
  
"Open your eyes."  
  
He sighed, and opened them again, and she helped him up into a sitting position. THAT hurt him, and she knew it. She was a doctor, after all. And a damned good one – even with the hangover. Of course, the badly concealed look of agony probably gave it away.  
  
"Here, take these."  
  
She waited for him to swallow the aspirin, then handed him the glass so he could wash them down.  
  
"I don't want to give you anything stronger right now."  
  
"I don't want to take anything stronger."  
  
"You can later-"  
  
"I don't want to."  
  
"We'll see what happens."  
  
He scowled. He really hated it when she did that whole ignoring everything he said thing.  
  
"I'll be back in a little bit."  
  
He nodded. "I'll be ready."  
  
She took another look at his shoulder.  
  
"Try not to move too quickly and reopen it. And NO shower."  
  
That sounded familiar to both of them, and there was a moment's pause while thy tried to recapture a memory that was tantalizing close. But he gave up, and she shrugged, too. Whatever it had been, it could wait for her to get home and cleaned up.  
  
"I couldn't if I wanted to."  
  
She nodded, and left him alone. 


	6. 06

He wasn't ready when she returned. He wasn't even close. But he'd tried, and she knew that the instant she walked into his house – without knocking, since she knew how difficult it would be for him to move quickly. He was sitting on his bed where she'd left him, but he was wearing clean boxers – evidence that he hadn't just been sitting there the entire hour or so she was gone. He also had the rest of the clothing he was planning on wearing piled on the bed next to him. He just couldn't get them on. Already the little dressing of himself that he'd done had caused him far more pain than the Tylenol could deal with, and he looked fairly miserable when she came through his bedroom door.  
  
"I was tempted to go back to bed..." he said when he saw her come into the room.  
  
She crossed over to the bed and gave him a quick examination – which was just a habit for her.  
  
"Why didn't you?"  
  
"You weren't here to cuddle with."  
  
Startled, she looked up from his shoulder and into his eyes, and saw that he was grinning. Oh, the teasing was going to begin full-force, now, she could tell. Probably it was a calculated way to take his mind off just how bad he felt, and she smiled despite herself.  
  
"I was drunk."  
  
"Oh, I know."  
  
"As I recall, you were the one who told me to have the beer..."  
  
"Only because you wouldn't let me have it." They both remembered that much, at least.  
  
She picked up his t-shirt and gingerly helped him get it on, hearing him gasp when they jarred his wounded shoulder, although he didn't say anything in complaint. He knew she was helping him, after all, and unless he was in a foul mood – which he wasn't right then – he wasn't going to whine about something that couldn't be helped.  
  
"Wait till Sam hears that you seduced me," Janet said once she had his shirt on. Two could play the teasing game.  
  
"I did not seduce you."  
  
"Got me drunk, pulled me into the bedroom..."  
  
"I..." He paused, thinking through the fog of the night before. "I pulled you into the shower... or called you into there... I'm not sure which."  
  
"Oh, well _that's_ much better."  
  
He chuckled.  
  
"Yeah. It does sound bad, I suppose."  
  
"Maybe a little."  
  
"Nothing did happen, right?" He asked her, seriously.  
  
She shook her head. "Not as far as I remember. And I'm pretty sure I'd remember if we did something serious."  
  
"You'd never be able to forget it."  
  
"Oh, please." She rolled her eyes, and he smiled, as she'd intended.  
  
Janet took his pants and put his feet through the legs and helped him stand up, which he did carefully. He'd picked slacks this morning, which would be much easier for him to manage, but right then she just pulled them up, zipped and buttoned them for him before it could become a big deal. Especially with their bantering just then.  
  
"Did you eat?"  
  
He shook his head. She'd been pretty sure that would be the answer.  
  
"Are you hungry?"  
  
"I have this odd desire to smoke a cigarette."  
  
It was her turn to smile, and she did.  
  
"Don't get used to the special treatment, Colonel. It's only because no one else is here to take care of you, and I know you can't do it yourself."  
  
"I could."  
  
"You choose not to?"  
  
"Well... what would I do if no one was around to bully me and keep me occupied?"  
  
"Uh huh."  
  
They left the room as soon as she helped him onto shoes and socks, and went down the hall. The mess from the pizza the night before was contained to a small area of the living room – the coffee table and a section of the sofa.  
  
"I'll clean that up later," Jack decided.  
  
"Good. I want to get you back to the infirmary and get that shoulder taken care of."  
  
"Can't wait to get your hands on me again?"  
  
"Be nice, or I'll use a sewing needle to stitch you up."  
  
"Nah, you're better than that."  
  
He was full of compliments today! Fraiser smiled as she opened the door and they went to her car.  
  
"Stop and get something to eat?"  
  
"No. You can eat after I take care of you."  
  
"Come on... I want some donuts."  
  
"The commissary-"  
  
"Has stale donuts."  
  
"They do not."  
  
"Yes they do."  
  
"Not if you arrive to work on time, like we're going to."  
  
He pouted.  
  
She ignored it and started the car.  
  
He sighed, and then sulked.  
  
She smiled, and ignored it.  
  
"You know... I seem to remember your hand running along my belly... my naked belly..."  
  
"Fine, we'll stop and get some donuts."  
  
He grinned.  
  
She scowled. But a moment later she smiled, too.  
  
"You can be very bad sometimes."  
  
"I know."  
  
They pulled into a Dunkin' Donuts, and he bought far more than either of them could eat.  
  
"When does Cassie come home?"  
  
"Tomorrow night." She said, starting the car with one hand, while she picked a glazed donut out of the box with the other. "What about Sam?"  
  
"Day after tomorrow."  
  
They were quiet for a while.  
  
"What are your plans for tonight, Colonel?"  
  
"Oh, the usual... nothing."  
  
Mope around the house. Wish Carter was there to annoy.  
  
"Why don't you come over?"  
  
He looked over at her, and she rolled her eyes when she saw the leer he'd set on his face. Made a little less serious by the wicked gleam of laughter in his brown eyes and the powdered sugar on his nose and face.  
  
"Oh, please..."  
  
He smiled.  
  
"You mean it?"  
  
"Sure. I'll even cook dinner. No pizza. Easy to eat stuff."  
  
"Really?"  
  
"No promises I'll go to bed with you afterwards, though..." She trailed off, grinning now when it was his turn to roll his eyes.  
  
"It'd have to be a pretty good meal to get me to do the whole waking up with someone immediately intent on stitching me up again thing."  
  
"Pot roast?"  
  
"That might do it."  
  
She pulled into the base.  
  
"So?"  
  
"Sounds nice, Doc. I accept."  
  
It did sound nice. And it was nice of her to offer.  
  
"No medication?"  
  
"And no beer." She agreed.  
  
They both grinned.  
  
The end!  
  
Author's Note: Yeah, no Jack and Janet relationship... nothing more than a friendship... but these two spend a lot of time together arguing in the show, and I think their relationship should have a chance to be shown in a slightly different manner, since there's no way you can always argue with someone you like. (And when someone's saved your life a gazillion times, you _have_ to like them, right?) 


End file.
